Out of the blue
by Minne-My
Summary: Eleanor Bramwell's past comes roaring back to her but circumstances have changed. Set in 1925. Femslash
1. Chapter 1

_**12**__**th**__** June 1925. 7.20 am**_

He recognised her voice. He had always liked Eleanor's giggle, a little rough around the edges with a touch of coquettishness, an enticing fusion of sensuality. So many years had passed since he'd seen her, since she'd become Mrs Quarrie, wife to a Major he'd never met. The Great War had left its haggard mark on everyone and he'd heard that she'd suffered her fair share of loss. More so than him.

The woman whom he had thrown Eleanor over for in the race to become Mrs Finn O'Neill was dead and buried, succumbed to the Spanish flu. A sweet, gentle woman who had lacked the fire that Eleanor Bramwell had. A little too much fire, perhaps. He hadn't appreciated Eleanor's hysterical public outburst upon seeing his new bride. He hadn't meant to hurt her but he needed the influence and wealth that his debutante American wife could give him. His wife had never asked him but he was sure that she had started to suspect that there was always a space in his heart for Eleanor. If she had asked, he wasn't sure he could lie.

He had arrived at her friend's townhouse early on Saturday morning, hoping to catch her unawares. The maid had let him in with the instruction that he should wait in the living room. He took his time considering the décor. He was surprised to see a family picture of Eleanor despite this not being her house. He looked closely. That must be her husband and son. Both dead in the war, an old Major and a young lad of only 16. He must have lied to get into conscription; strutting off to glory, only to be trampled and broken up on the battlefield, his bones sinking into the mud and mire, swallowed up into the earth, never to see the sun again. Such a waste of life. He could have become a doctor like his mother. O'Neill felt an unaccustomed stab to the heart at that. He and his wife had never managed to conceive, despite begging Eleanor to save her. When he'd heard that Eleanor had married and had a son, named him after her father, Robert, he'd wished her luck in his head, never imagining that her heart would be broken so soon.

Looking around him, he observed that the coast was clear. He crept up the stairs, hoping to a glimpse of Eleanor in her nightdress. He loved to see a woman in a frothy feminine nightdress, made it so much sweeter when the skin beneath was revealed. Having been directed to the house, he stopped to consider the owner. He'd never heard of Dr MacMillan but hoped he was a decent chap, a good friend to Eleanor, nothing more.

He'd changed his mind when he heard Eleanor's voice raised in what he recognised to be passionate ardour. She'd graced their bed with that voice before, he'd thoroughly enjoyed it. He'd done everything he could to her to make sure she responded towards him that way. But whatever his tricks, this man was doing it better, he realised, with a scowl. She was being positively brazen, especially so early in the morning. Damn that Dr MacMillan! Either Eleanor had sneaked an admirer into her room or the dastardly doctor was showing her a good time.

It still didn't occur to him when he peeked through the crack in the door in a most ungentlemanly manner. He could hear her but he could hear someone else too. Definitely not English. An accent from the Colonies. He bristled at that. He couldn't decide on who it might be. He turned to go and the floorboard creaked. The occupants of the room went silent and he cursed his clumsy tread. A voice rang out in irritation.

'Who's there?'

He sighed, turned around and pushed the door open, getting quite a shock so early in the morning.


	2. Chapter 2

_**11**__**th**__** June 1925. 10 pm**_

Eleanor cried out in pleasure as she kept the table steady. Keeping her hands in front of her as requested, skirt rucked up, bodice ripped open to let her breasts breathe from their confinement, she rubbed herself against the rim for additional stimulation and let her lover do the rest with something hard and leathery. This was their favourite plaything and Elizabeth particularly liked her up against the dressing table mirror to watch her; her wide mouth emitting those delightful noises, her nipples moving to the accompanying thrusts, her graceful neck, the look of pure pleasure stealing across her face when she was content with the motion, Elizabeth loved all these things about women in general. But Eleanor was in a class of her own. No high-pitched squealing, she was a low moaner, a throaty staccato pleasure to listen to.

They'd fucked each other with this toy all over the house in every conceivable position by now and they still enjoyed playing the dice. To the ordinary eye it was just a set of dice. For the lovers, each number corresponded to what they would do to each other. They carelessly tossed the dice this time before Elizabeth pushed her partner onto the bed and made it up from there.

A sharp slap on her bare cheek brought the almost senseless Eleanor back from oblivion. A part of her would always marvel at the blithe enjoyment she got from engaging in acts she never knew existed all those years ago. Elizabeth kissed all over her neck and shoulders, making her shudder in anticipation. Eleanor was greedy to be finished off with Elizabeth's lips in between her legs. Once she'd had a taste of it, she was insatiable. And once she had dared to reciprocate, there was no stopping her. She was a curious creature.

Something else Elizabeth loved about her.


	3. Chapter 3

_**17**__**th**__** September 1921. 8 am**_

_She trembled as the scissors rested on the heavy locks. Elizabeth had promised that there would still be a respectable length of hair left to pin up. Eleanor wasn't sure if she'd regret trying her hand at something fashionable, so different to the elaborate hairstyle of her youth. She wanted to be less rigid but she was finding it difficult to adjust. She wasn't young anymore and she felt that keenly. _

_Elizabeth outdid Eleanor in every way in bucking convention, Eleanor had to admit. She behaved like no other Catholic she knew. Ahead of her time. _

_The first time she'd seen her friend dishevelled from sleep was a revelation. Men's nightclothes! Soon she would find out how comfortable they were and the fussy nightgowns were happily donated. _

_Now she was putting her trust in Elizabeth and her scissor wielding hand. _

'_You'll feel much lighter' her friend had promised, so clever in pinning her hair so that no one would suspect how short it really was. Not flapper short, that was for the younger women. But short enough. She braced herself and shut her eyes, feeling the snip, hearing that shear reverberate around her brain. She counted to ten and opened her eyes. All was still. It had been done. She leapt up, ran to the mirror and touched her hair, hardly daring to believe that she had somewhat shed her skin, like a snake. Elizabeth was right, her head felt light and carefree. She threw her arms around her friend and hugged her tighter than she'd ever hugged anyone before._


	4. Chapter 4

_**12**__**th**__** June 1925. 7.21 am**_

Eleanor was lying in bed, duvet hastily pulled up to her chest. She looked like a startled gazelle. No matter that there were so many lines on her face, she'd not changed so much. There were those piercing brown eyes, laced with green. You'd only see it when you got up close. He noted the wild flush on her cheeks and smiled. He loved it when she looked so rumpled.

Practically spooning her, however, was the last kind of person O'Neill expected to see. Not a rugged specimen of manhood but an undoubtably feminine form, marred by a challenging hostile stare. Slim and angular with bright blue eyes.

'Finn! What are you doing here?'

Eleanor's cry of surprise snapped his attention back to her.

'Mrs Quarrie.' He bowed slightly to her. A frown crossed her face.

'Dr Bramwell to you.'

He felt like that was a little petulant. That thought must have showed on his face because the other woman tutted at him. He tried to ignore her. He started again.

'Eleanor. It's good to see you.'

'Why are you here?'

He didn't expect that.

'I wanted to see you.'

'At this hour of the morning? What did you think I was going to do, invite you into my bed?'

He stared in shock at her frankness. She was notorious for saying things that people didn't dare to say but this was quite abrupt, even for her.

'I wanted to talk to you.'

'If your house isn't on fire or your wife isn't dying or having a baby then it's not that urgent' remarked the other woman drily. O'Neill was starting to get severely hacked off with this intruder. He flared up.

'I'm sorry, I thought I was at the house of Dr MacMillan.'

'You are.'

O'Neill looked at the other woman in surprise. It took him a little longer than it should have to realise…

'_I'm_ Dr MacMillan' she said belligerently.

He hadn't seen that one coming.


	5. Chapter 5

_**12**__**th**__** June 1925. 7.37 am**_

Elizabeth MacMillan knew all about Mr Finn O'Neill. The way he'd been happy to consummate his union with Eleanor and then ditch her for a young debutante wife for the money and prestige. Not even the courtesy of a telegram to tell her. Then had the audacity to beg for her help when his wife was ill after having scorned Eleanor for her hysterical outburst upon seeing them (Elizabeth couldn't blame her). He needed her, wanted her but didn't feel like she was worth marrying, despite his promises. To hear that he had approached Eleanor while his wife was recovering and asked her to be his mistress, why Eleanor should have slapped him right across the face for that impudence. Quite rightly so, she refused. Eleanor was a prideful creature but Elizabeth liked that about her, the world was full of too many spineless individuals these days.


	6. Chapter 6

_**12**__**th**__** June 1925. 7.46 am**_

Even with the evidence in front of him, he still couldn't wrap his head around it. The two women sleeping most unchastely in bed together. The bottles of hair tint by the basin; the compacts of powder and rouge, so frowned upon back when they were all young enough to remember that it wasn't a polite thing to wear. They were in their twilight years but in this day and age, it meant something different to what they had known before.

He twitched when they descended the staircase wearing what could only be described as men's nightclothes under their dressing gown. Those days were gone when people received visitors fully dressed. Could he get used to seeing women in trousers? He thought not. Those pretty nightdresses were a thing of the past. He noticed something else that surprised him.

'Your hair!'

He knew it was the style now for women to cut their hair so scandalously short you could see the back of their neck and Eleanor's hair wasn't so shocking but it was so much shorter. The heavy tresses had vanished, replaced by a relaxed length touching the shoulders. Gone were the fussy trappings of their Victorian youth. She seemed different, much more assured of herself but a lot more content too. Dr MacMillan's auburn tresses were admittedly rather attractive but her scorn towards him was rather off putting. He grudgingly understood why, when what he had come to say might give her cause to throw him out. But it was for Eleanor to decide.

Elizabeth called for tea and the maid came and went with no curiosity. She was obviously used to unexpected and alternative gatherings.

'Rather belatedly, I must offer my condolences for your loss.'

Everyone's eyes went to the photographs on the mantlepiece. Eleanor's sigh betrayed her anguish.

O'Neill outlined his wife's death and life since having jilted Eleanor. Modest success, no children, the routine of widowerhood. Elizabeth sat there drinking tea and watching them both with wary eyes. She said nothing as they reminisced about their youth but soon enough, the hurt and anger came rushing back again.

'Are you here to talk about old times or do you have something to say to me?' Eleanor asked him bluntly. 'And watch what you say because I'm disinclined to trust your words.'

'I hoped you'd have a little more faith in me' he said softly.

Elizabeth snorted derisively.

'Do you have to be here?' He asked peevishly.

'Actually she does. It is her house and whatever you say concerns her too.'

'How so?'

He was going to make her spell out the words that marked her perversion. He was simmering with anger about the person that had now taken Eleanor's heart. He'd seen the tender glances between them, when Dr MacMillan had softened towards the woman they both wanted. He'd seen women like her but had never spoken to them.

'Soon this will be my house too. We live in companionship.'

He sneered at that. 'Companions? Is that what they call it now? I remember a time when companions didn't share the same bed.'

'Did you really, though?' Asked Elizabeth softly. 'How many women did you actually know, know anything of their lives?'

That shut him up. He hadn't known anything of women's lives. He hadn't even known that these kinds of women existed until the last few years. To know that it was possible that women he'd passed by in the street, a family friend or two, possessed such inclinations in their private life had shocked him.


	7. Chapter 7

_**12**__**th**__** June 1925. 8.15 am**_

Eleanor was as stubborn as ever. He used to be able to persuade her, observe her decision to battle with her natural wilfulness. Eleanor had never been an obedient woman. She struggled with rebelliousness and her father's hope that she had been tamed by the Major had clearly not been successful. But O'Neill used to be able to make her come round to a shared state of desire in the end. She'd been unable to resist the pull of the erotic, recklessly abandoning sense once she'd had a taste for it. But never would he think that she would seek out carnal pleasures with someone like this woman.

'You think you can just click your fingers and I would run back to you again?' She said disbelievingly. 'I learned my lesson such a long time ago. I haven't thought about you in several years and I assumed the same of you.'

'How could you? You were always in my thoughts. You can't have loved your husband the way you loved me.'

She sat back and considered it. They listened to the clock ticking. Several ticks later until she spoke.

'I can't deny how much I loved you. I'd never felt anything like it.'

He felt a shiver of satisfaction at that. At least he'd always have that. He turned his head and saw Elizabeth watching him smugly over her teacup. A cold sweat started to steal over him and his heart hammered uncomfortably.

'I can't pretend my son was conceived in true love. It was a night of drunken miscalculation. I was on the brink of breakup with my fiancé and did something stupid. I nearly had to give him up in shame. I would have been left with nothing, not even my job. I felt like I didn't deserve the luck of a man wanting to marry me at the last minute to save my life from ruin. I was fond of him.

When Robert started schooling I was able to practice medicine again. Not in the way I wanted to but it was something at least. I can't deny that it is my one true passion in life. I only wish my son could have been spared, perhaps he could have joined me in the medical field. I would have been happy regardless of whatever job he would have trained for.'

The crack in her voice reverberated around the room, amplified to the listening pairs of ears. Nobody moved.

'I don't care what you think of me now. Of us, together. We were still in the time of Victoria when we last saw each other. Look at the world now! Turned upside down and no idea which way is up. But I'm happy, as much as I can be. Where would I be without having met Elizabeth? She's my best friend.'

They smiled at each other in such an intimate way that he could barely stand it.

'I'm in a place where I barely had to hesitate at the thought of our relationship. I like it like this. I just regret that I had to lose my son along the way.'

He couldn't fault that. Elizabeth's expression was so tender he had to look away. With a heavy heart he knew he had to give Eleanor up.

'Is that your final answer?'

She smiled at him.

'Oh yes.'

And so it was to be. They were surprisingly gracious to him in the end. He left that happy house of content lovers, in a state of dejection. The last link to his youth had slipped through his fingers and now he had to plough on through life with uncertainty. Perhaps it was what he deserved. He'd never know.


End file.
